


Get a Grip

by LikeASwitchInHeat



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Bruises, Choking, Fantasizing, M/M, Rough Sex, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:21:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27947459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LikeASwitchInHeat/pseuds/LikeASwitchInHeat
Summary: Originally posted to Tumblr June 2019
Relationships: Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal
Comments: 12
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Tumblr June 2019

Rhett had a large, dark bruise around his bicep in the shape of Link’s hand.

He stared in the mirror of the dressing room between shoots, fully admiring the color and shape. Remembering the strength of Link’s grip.

Link had been living a nightmare a few days ago, recording yet another episode with a snake. When Rhett had teased him by offering to hold his hand, Link had ignored him. But when the snake wrapped itself around Link’s leg, he had grabbed onto Rhett for security so quick it was pitiful. Link had been embarrassed about how scared he was, embarrassed for clinging to Rhett, so harsh and needy. But what Link didn’t know was that Rhett was trying to recover from more than just the bruising.

He had to get his head on straight. Because as he looked at his bare arm in the mirror of the dressing room, he could feel the blood rushing lower. The skin under his upper arm was pale, and he was fixated on the contrasting, unhealthy color of the dark prints that has blossomed on the surface. Went well with the dark circles under his eyes that he’d tried futilely to cover with makeup. He hadn’t slept since that day, up all night thinking about Link’s big strong hands. Wrapped around his arms. Holding him still. Wrapped around his cock. Wrapped around… his neck.

He stopped himself there. He couldn’t be getting himself all worked up before recording. He had to get his bearings before it was time to go back on set again. He closed his eyes, but his body was alight, pulse throbbing, still vividly reliving the memory of Link’s hold. He took another breath, inhaling sharply before opening his eyes again. The bruises stared back at him. An ugly and cherished reminder of Link’s strength written on his skin.

Rhett pressed his left hand to his right arm, where the imprint of Link’s fingers bloomed darkly, purpling and bleeding into his freckled skin. He pushed down until a flare of pain rushed through him, down his spine, and Rhett shuddered. His other hand tightly squeezed the edge of the counter, like he may fall over without it to steady him.

He could still feel him, the adrenaline of fear giving Link unnatural strength. Feel him squeezing, feel his breath near his ear whispering in little panicky breaths. Rhett couldn’t help but imagine those whispered breaths voicing other things. Filthy things. Pressing Rhett onward with his grip and his whispers. Urging him to do all sorts of base things for him; and alone in the dressing room, Rhett darkly whispered to the mirror — Yes.

Gingerly, Rhett pushed down into the pain in his bruised arm until it flowed through him, imagining Link’s hand, tight and squeezing and possessive on him, fierce eyes piercing through him. Rhett moaned aloud, his knees nearly buckled, his cock stirred in his jeans.

He startled and stood upright as he heard the door open and saw Link walk through it.

“There you are, man. We’re just about to—“ Link’s eyes drifted down to the bruise for a moment, then darted away, shifting toward the floor. The shame was radiating off him in waves.

“I… I had no idea I’d actually… hurt you.” Link mumbled.

Rhett shrugged on a denim jacket that easily covered the black and blue arm.

“Hey, Link?” Rhett beckoned his eyes to meet his again. “Don’t worry about it. It’s okay….” And he added, in his mind, _I loved it._


	2. Chapter 2

It seemed as if Link had been avoiding him over the next few days. Or as much as possible while still commuting together, and working together every single day. Link barely said a word to him, and appeared to have retreated into himself. Rhett couldn’t find the emotional strength to reach out to him and ask what exactly was bothering him so much; he could barely face those questions within himself. But deep down he wanted to talk with Link. To sit down with his brother, but not his brother, and talk things out. To hold him as tightly as he wished Link would hold him, and stop him from slipping through his grasp the way he seemed to be doing.

—————

The situation worsened for Rhett the following week. They were touring, which usually brought them closer together. But this time, Link insisted on having his own room at each hotel they stayed at.

“That was always weird anyway,” Stevie commented. “You two sharing a room. We can more than afford for you guys to have your own rooms.”

Rhett still kept expecting Link to appear in his room at night. Maybe he’d have had a nightmare, and slide into bed next to Rhett. Like he’d sometimes done during sleepovers when they were kids. But they weren’t kids anymore. And each morning Rhett woke up alone, both aching and numb. Aching from the pain of Link freezing him out, which was almost a physical burning; numb because it couldn’t fill the emptiness from the absence of pain now that the bruising in his arm had long healed and faded away.

—————

“You avoiding me, buddyroll?” Rhett asked Link when he caught up to him at the continental breakfast one morning, puzzling over some coffee and a bowl of mini-wheats.

“What? No.” Link said vacantly. “Just…” He dropped the forced smile he’d tried to plaster on when Rhett sat down with him. “Trying to sort some… personal shit out.”

“You know, you can always talk to me,” Rhett offered weakly. But he didn’t push Link further. That wasn’t the way to get through to Link. So Rhett sat quietly. And imagined Link’s hands on him.

—————

That night, Rhett had a dream about Link pressing into his throat. First with his fingers, and then with his teeth. The jagged fangs pierced his skin, and dream-Link hadn’t let up. He proceeded to tear Rhett apart the same way they each seemed to be tearing themselves up emotionally this past week. Crimson rivers of his own blood ran across the floor beneath them as Rhett lie helpless in the bed. He wasn’t restrained in the dream, but some concept of sleep paralysis seemed to have transcended his stages of consciousness and he was powerless to move as Link feasted on him.

But Rhett did not die in the dream. Rather, he felt alive and endless as dream-Link held him by the throat with one hand. When Link finally pulled his mouth off of his neck, blood dripped from his chin.

“Have you missed me, bo?” Dream-Link asked, hunger in his voice, thirst in his eyes. “Missed me touching you like this?” His voice was low and sweet like honey as he reached down to grab Rhett’s cock.

Rhett was hard and helpless in his dream, making soft mewling for his Link.

“Do you want me to fuck you? Hold you down and leave the kind of marks that will let everyone know how rough you like it? How goddamn desperate you are for it?”

Rhett woke up before he could answer. He was not bleeding or dying, but alive and alone in bed, cock achingly hard. The phantom bruises that had once adorned his arm throbbed against his skin.

He reached up, and touched where he longed for Link to grab him, pressed his fingers to his neck, just under his jawbone. He groaned as he increased the pressure, and faint pain flashed through his body. He moaned his pleasure for the empty room to hear. And in his mind he could hear the dream-Link’s voice.  _ I’d touch you, _ Rhett could hear him say. He could almost feel the ghost of his fingers on him and on his cock, and he could hear him so clearly in his mind — Link’s voice but just a bit lower, his eyes a bit wilder.

Rhett jerked himself off until he came with a bitten off groan; his orgasm almost painful as it ripped through him, and left him unsatisfied.


	3. Chapter 3

“What’s your problem, Neal?” Rhett demanded, days later. He stood in the doorway of Link’s hotel room at an ungodly hour, dressed only in his boxers and an undershirt. Their tour was nearly over, and he still couldn’t get a good night’s rest. Link wouldn’t look at him anymore, not offstage. It was as if Rhett had been the one to lay hands on Link, and now Link was… afraid of him somehow.

“You know, I would gladly apologize, Link. If you would just tell me what it is you want me to apologize for. I feel like I’m being held hostage, but you ain’t made no demands.”

Link finally met his eyes, they looked as if he hadn’t been getting much shut-eye either. The gift of eye contact did come with some strings attached, in the form of Link’s nose wrinkling in annoyance, glaring up at him. “What the fuck, Rhett? I told you I was trying to figure some stuff out. Can’t you just give me some space, for once in thirty-five years?”

“Fuck you,” Rhett hissed, and shoved him. He hadn’t really expected Link to even be moved, the man was strong, could hold his ground. But Link stumbled backward a bit, caught off guard, staring at Rhett with his blue eyes wide.

Rhett closed the door behind him, and moved forward until they were toe-to-toe again.

“Any of that shit you tryna figure out got anything to do with me?” Rhett pushed him again, and Link allowed himself to be moved backward with Rhett’s movements. “Any of it have anything to do with why you won’t be in the same room with me, speak to me outside of on stage, or even look at me?” Rhett felt tears stinging in his dry, sleep deprived eyes. He crowded Link against the wall of his room, and Rhett pushed him one more time. Shoving against his chest, bumping him up against the wall. It felt good. Each push relieved a fraction of built up tension.

But there was one thing that would have relieved him further, one thing that he wanted more: for Link to push back. And it was working. Something snarling and ugly was surfacing inside of Link, growing more vicious the more Link simply let himself be pushed around. Link just took it — the shoving, the pushing. Rhett thought maybe he should throw a swing at him as well. “You can’t hide from me like this, and just… expect me to put up with that shit!”

“Rhett…” Link said, and there was a softness behind his glasses, in the way he looked at him. Biting his bottom lip, frowning. “Rhett,” he repeated, and it sounded like a plea. It sounded as desperate as Rhett felt. “I can’t stop thinking about that bruise on your arm. I hurt you, and…”

“Link. I told you already, it’s fine. I’m not—“

“Let me finish.”

Rhett shut his mouth.

“I… I liked it. How it looked. Seeing my prints on your body.” The blush crept all the way up Link’s face to the tips of his ears. “I can’t stop thinking, not about how I regret it. But about doing it again. And… it’s not right. I’m… it’s fucked up, Rhett!”

He didn’t say anything else. But Rhett had always understood him.

“I don’t care,” Rhett husked. He was all wired wrong now, and twisted up inside. He wanted all the wrong things. Always had, if he was honest. “Just stop pushing me away.”

He reached out to touch Link, but Link surprised him by grabbing his arms instead, and spinning them around so that Rhett was now up against the wall.

He took a chance, and reached for Link’s shaking hands.

“Put ‘em here,” Rhett told him, gently guiding one of Link’s hands to his throat.

For a moment, Link just let it rest there, his thumb on the jugular, fingertips pressed into his skin. Link’s hands, gentle in the moment. Not squeezing, but stroking; fingers rubbing Rhett’s quickened pulse, like he can’t help himself.

Link then pulled away, as if suddenly burned or stung. His eyes widened with horror like a spooked horse as he looked at Rhett.

Rhett couldn’t handle it, the rejection. Not now, not like this. All he wanted was to feel Link’s grip around him again.

“No, no, like this,” he pleaded. He reached for his hands again. “C’mere.” Hands at his throat, Rhett arched toward him. Let him see how hard he was from this. Rhett thrust against him, trying to grind his cock over his best friend’s hip, he gasped once he felt sweet friction explode through his body.

“Please,” he begged, as he subconsciously shifted his legs to spread them apart for Link, evening out their height difference in doing so. His cock jutted out, tenting his boxers; thick and full, already leaking precome for Link through the thin fabric. “I keep dreaming about this,” Rhett confided. “My mind won’t let it go.” Rhett could hear how haunted he sounded, but he didn’t care. He was all in now, no point holding back. He would beg. He would whine. “I need you.”

He could feel the hesitation in Link’s body, a tenseness in his spine; but his eyes were electric. And Rhett knew he was going to give in.

Link pulled in close to him, and Rhett’s breath hitched. Link pressed a kiss to his forehead, the way he used to sometimes do when they were kids, the way he hadn’t done in a very long while.

Link’s words were soft, but his voice was rough gravel as he moved his lips to Rhett’s ear.

“Okay, bo.”

Both of Link’s hands closed around his throat, and Rhett moaned freely, hooking one long leg around Link’s narrow hips.

“You wanna… maybe take those off?” Link growled. Looking down to the thin fabrics separating them.

They parted for just long enough to strip themselves of their sleepwear, and then they pulled back toward one another like opposite magnets.

They made their way to the bed.

Rhett was already slick and opened. Having gotten himself ready before even approaching Link’s door. He was determined to get fucked tonight. Worst case scenario, he’d planned to finish the job himself back in his own room, with thoughts of Link in his mind and his name on his lips. But this. This was better.

“Goodness,” Link groaned, eyes following his fingers that had drifted down between Rhett’s legs. Link’s tongue wet his lips as he watched Rhett react to the different sensations he was inflicting upon him. Link looked hungry. The hand on Rhett’s throat didn’t exactly squeeze, but the pressure made Rhett shiver as sparks of pleasure ran through his spine.

“Please, Link? Please,” he begged, shame now completely gone, and sanity not far behind. He arched up into Link’s hold, into his hands, grabbed onto him and pushed him against him. “Please, Link, I want to—“

Link squeezed then, cutting him off mid-sentence. Rhett’s words died as the breath left his lungs. Rhett couldn’t make a sound, he was helpless as a full-body shudder shook through his body, warmth coiling in his belly, his cock heavy and throbbing.

“Fuck, you really like that,” Link growled, panting for air, head cocked, observing him.

He let go of Rhett, softening his grip as Rhett gasped for air; but before Rhett could say anything, he felt Link’s cock at his entrance, nudged against the lube-slicked hole. It didn’t take much for Link to push in, the head of his dick breached him, slowly. Careful at first, and then all at once. Rhett gasped raggedly as he was spread open. Link’s cock was a little big for him. It burned, even with the lube. They were both torn open now, in different senses of the word. Both ripped open, and both full at last.

“Fuck,” Link moaned, his eyes fluttered shut. Rhett watched Link open them again, and look down at where their bodies were joined, Link pistoning in and out in small motions.

Rhett scrambled, grabbing onto Link’s shoulder, another hand finding his thick, salt and pepper hair, “Oh, gosh. Oh, gosh. Oh fuck, Link.” Words spilled from his mouth.

Link cut him off again, pressure on his carotid, robbing him of breath as he pulled out and pushed back inside with a hard thrust that made Rhett strain against Link’s grip, body arching and bending towards his hands as he struggled for air.

Rhett’s cock twitched against his stomach, a flurry of heat shooting up his spine, his guts warmed and coiled and readied.

“Don’t squirm. You’ll make me leave marks.”

“I thought you liked the marks?” Rhett just barely managed to get the words out.

“Oh, I do. Very much so. But we’ll be back to work soon. And you can’t be wearing so many high-collared shirts in the summertime.”

Rhett pouted. He needed Link to leave his signature on his skin. Wanted to feel the dull ache just under the surface as he took his time healing from this encounter. He needed that so fucking bad.

“More,” he mouthed, hoping Link could read him as clearly as he usually did. “More, please.”

Link leaned down, slowing his thrusts, pressure dying down both between his legs and against his throat; but before Rhett could complain, Link kissed him on the mouth. Link’s hand was still on Rhett’s neck, holding him there through the kiss. His tongue found Rhett’s tongue, and his teeth took his lower lip into his mouth, teasing him with his sharp kitten teeth, though he didn’t break skin just yet.

Link fucked him steadily like that, the grip on his throat alternating between gentle and hard enough that Rhett saw stars. Throughout, Link fucked him in and out with each squeeze, mouth hovering over him, breaths warm and wet, their bodies rocking together.

“Link!” Rhett cried out, before Link squeezed hard, holding him down by the throat as his teeth found his shoulder and drew blood. The pain was sharp, and sudden; then dull and aching. It was overwhelming - the burn of his stretched hole, the sear of the torn skin on his shoulder, the constant pressure on his throat.

It was all too much.

It was just enough.

Rhett came hard with choked off noises that died under Link’s hands, as pleasure and pain wracked his body.

His vision went white momentarily, spots behind his eyes. And then Link’s hands were gone from his throat, stroking his hair, cupping his cheek. His throat was so sore and scratchy, it hurt to speak. His shoulder was bleeding onto the sheets a little. Rhett couldn’t think beyond Link’s eyes, and his own spent orgasm. Link’s come was sticky on his thighs, his own come still messy on his stomach.

He let out a soft sigh of contentment, but Link looked at him with that burning shame again, and Rhett swears to god, Link gets off on it: feeling like a bad, bad boy for having taken what he wanted.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” Link whispered. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

But that was the last thing Rhett wanted to hear.

He grabbed Link’s wrist. Rhett was weakened and recovering, but he could always find ways to push his body through.

“Again,” he insisted. “Do it again.”


End file.
